I was only 12 at the time of the original Woodstock Music Festival in 1969, and although there were kids my age and younger on the fields of Yasgur's Farm in Bethel, NY for those three days of peace and music, I wasn't among them. As I watched the documentary that was created of it and listened to the stories from people who attended, including my brother and eldest sister, I had a sense that it was a once in a lifetime event and experience, never to be repeated.
Never to be repeated.
Never to be repeated.
Okay, it was repeated, or at least carried the name.
Music festivals are always, at their core, a commercial venue. Yes, you might be there for the music, but there's a cost associated with bringing you that music, and those who organize and promote it with the name and money expect to recoup same and then some. Commercial venue means profit.
There are those who shall remain nameless who seem to think that just because you slap a particular name on something, it must run and will be a success. There are those who shall remain nameless who believe that because they have right to the name that only they can bring you an event that is worthy of that name and spirit. They may have a legal right, but that doesn't mean that folks want what they're offering anymore. There comes a time when the vision gets blurred, when what brought one event to life morphs into something else and loses its power to draw.
The Woodstock Music Festival of 1969 drew from a different time and energy than any of the events bearing its name since then. It is a piece of music history and history in general that does and should stand apart from anything else.
Woodstock 2019 has fallen to the wayside, cancelled just weeks before the 50th anniversary. It wasn’t just investors backing out, repeated location changes, and musical artists opting not to play. There’s something more esoteric to its failure and I sincerely hope someone gets that concept.
It’s time to pause and reflect, and time to stop trying to reinvent that musical wheel.
